


The Pure Scent of Aqua Velva

by Kyntha



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Blindness, Comfort, Confessions, Episode: s05e03 Out of Sight Out of Mind, First Kiss, Fluff, Injury Recovery, Korean War, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Priests, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyntha/pseuds/Kyntha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Mulcahy keeps Hawkeye company while he recovers from temporary blindness. Based on Out of Sight, Out of Mind, s5e3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pure Scent of Aqua Velva

**Author's Note:**

> Includes my head canon as to why Father Mulcahy's name changes from John Francis to Francis John mid-series.

The smell of dust, warmed by the late afternoon sun, drifted out of the road as footsteps rose and fell past the tent. Occasionally a person walking by stopped to say hello through the netting of the tent, but didn’t stay to chat. The nurses, in their guilt-ridden consciences hovered the first day, but after they all went about their lives and their jobs.

The bandage covering Hawkeye’s eyes was in need of a change. He’d made a nuisance out of himself in Post-Op, though, so Potter and BJ had sentenced him to what felt like solitary confinement in the Swamp. The blindness didn’t bother him so much as the isolation and boredom. Oh, sure his other senses were heightened. That’s how he’d found a nick in the bowel of one of BJ’s patients yesterday. He still couldn’t make his way around camp on his own, though, and everyone was too busy or too uncomfortable to sit with him. If he sat too long alone, the fear set in.

A soft knock on the door, pulled Hawkeye out of what promised to be a spectacular downward spiral of fear and boredom. The knock was soft and tentative, one that waited for permission. The Colonel’s was hard and authoritative as an announcement, not a request. Radar’s was swift just before he pulled the door open. Like a child, he forgets he’s supposed to wait for a welcome. And of course it would be ridiculous for Frank and Beej to knock. The knock could have almost come from Able or Baker or even Kellye, but Hawkeye knew in an instant it wasn’t one of the nurses.

“Come in, Father.” Hawkeye called before Father Mulcahy could speak.

“Now, Hawkeye, how did you know it was me?”

“Aqua Velva.”

“I beg you pardon?”

“Aqua Velva. Your aftershave. I smelled it as you approached.”

“Several men in camp wear Aqua Velva, my son.” Father Mulcahy stood at the end of the cot with his Panama Hat in his hands, unsure of where to place himself.

“Have a seat, Father. No need to stand there shuffling your feet.”

The priest smiled and made his way among the dirty socks, pin up magazines, and combat boots to the chair near Hawkeye’s bed.

“Your Aqua Velva, Father, is pure with maybe just a hint of...eucalyptus.”

“Ahhh...that would be the goat's milk soap my sister the Sister’s convent makes to sell to a shop in Berkley. She sends me the ends of the bars they can’t sell.”

“Frank’s Aqua Velva mingles with the the almost too sweet White Shoulders Margaret wears and the Ivory soap Louise sends him from home. Colonel Potter, of course, smells of English Leather and cigars and the faintest hint of Henry’s Aqua Velva. I suppose from sleeping in Henry’s old bunk.”

At a loss for what to say, Father Mulcahy mumbled, “I wonder, my son, what does it say about me that my aftershave hasn’t mingled with the scent of someone else?”

“That you aren’t sneaking around other people’s tents after dark, Father?” Hawkeye grinned, wondering not for the first time if that was the type of thing the father might be willing to do.

“Now, Hawkeye...” Father Mulcahy chided, failing to hid the amusement in his voice. Truth was Father Mulcahy had always been fond of the man he called a crazy agnostic. The man was loud and lewd and quite the jokester, but the priest didn’t need to lose one of his senses to see the vulnerability, insecurity, and tenderness Hawkeye hid below the jokes and brashness. One only needed to take the time to look.

“How did you choose Aqua Velva anyway, Father?” Hawkeye was so grateful for the company, he knew he was babbling. He asked anyway. The loneliness coupled with the blindness had begun to wear thin. He even struggled to find the energy to keep up sarcastic, sardonic façade and was glad it was the gentle, quirky Father Mulcahy who had arrived to keep him company. Often the Father was the only person in camp he felt safe enough to bare his vulnerable, soft underbelly to.

“Oh, well, why does anyone choose? Why did you choose Old Spice?”

Hawkeye shrugged. “My dad wears it. Growing up just my dad and me, it just seemed natural I would wear it too.”

Father Mulcahy “ummmed” his reply thinking back to his Loyola days and the man he knew there who wore Aqua Velva and so he did too.

“Father?”

“I’m sorry, my son. I got lost in a moment.” the priest straightened himself and remembered why he was visiting. “I came by to see if there was anything you needed?”

Ahhhh...there it was...the pity visit from the chaplain. Hawkeye wanted to bristle at the friendly, formal statement. But he was too lonely to lose the only bit of company he’d had since lunch. “Actually, there is something. BJ was to change my dressing earlier and got called away. The bandages are over near the still somewhere. Would you mind?”

Father Mulcahy smiled. Changing wound dressing certainly wasn’t something taught at seminary, but it was one of the first things the nurses taught him in Post-Op so he could fill in when they were in surgery or on the few occasions the nurses were forced to bug out. He’d long ago gotten past the squeamishness associated with the soldiers’ wounds and found it was something useful he could do for them and the medical staff.

“I would be happy too, Hawkeye.” He stood. Finding the bandages, he said “Why don’t you sit on the edge of the bed? I find this easier if I’m standing over the patient, er you..”

After a little shuffling to find space for both pairs of feet on the floor among the detritus, and using Father Mulcahy’s trusty Tom Mix pocket knife to cut through the adhesive tape, the lighter haired man began to unwrap the current soiled bandage. The two men shared a space large enough for only one and so their bodies brushed against one another on occasion as Father Mulcahy worked. The moment became oddly and almost too comfortably intimate.

Hawkeye thought how to break the silence. Silence never seemed to sit with him as easily as it did other people around him. The father began singing softly, almost to himself, though, and the sound quieted Hawkeye’s over anxious mind.

_You must remember this_  
_A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh_  
_The fundamental things apply_  
_As time goes by_

“There now. I believe I have the old bandages off, Hawkeye.” he interrupted his quiet singing.

“Good, Father, now if you would leave the eye patches on and rewrap everything with the new dressing.” Hawkeye directed, falling momentarily into the role of doctor instead of patient.

Carefully, as the burn looked quite painful, Father Mulcahy wrapped fresh clean gauze that felt cool and soft against Hawkeye’s heated skin. “Are you in any pain, my son?” He whispered.

“Only a little, Father. The Colonel made sure to give me a small dose of morphine at lunch.”

After a few more minutes of soft singing and wrapping and bodies brushing against each other Hawkeye’s dressing was changed. He was feeling the better for it.

_A fight for love and glory_  
_A case of do or die_  
_The world will always welcome lovers_  
_As time goes by_

The Father’s light touch against his scalp and cheeks and his leg wedged between Hawkeye’s own didn’t hurt to improve Hawkeye’s mood either. He may have been wrong, but the thought he felt the flesh in the front of the the Father’s pants growing harder when the man turned and hips bumped against shoulders. Hawkeye knew he wasn’t wrong in noting that the front of his own pants were noticeably tighter.

“Is there...” Father Mulcahy cleared his throat, but not before Hawkeye detected a slight tremor to his voice, “anything else you need?”

Pushing aside any inappropriate feelings that normally simmered below the surface when it came to Father Mulcahy, the surgeon replied, “It would do me good to get out of the Swamp for a while, Father. If you have time to take a walk with me.”

“Of course, my son.” The priest pushed aside his own inappropriate feelings he hadn’t often allowed himself to feel since his college days.

“But...” Hawkeye started, “Not as my chaplain. I can’t bear another person walking me around the compound or to the latrine or to the mess because they feel pity for me, Father.” Hawkeye exclaimed, allowing himself to vent some of the week’s agitation. “If you have time, would you walk with me as my friend?”

“In that case, Hawkeye, perhaps you would call me John?” The father put out his hand and placed Hawkeye’s over it so he could help the doctor up from his cot. In the too small space, the result was two men standing so close the father’s warm breath fanned over Hawkeye’s face.

Hawkeye tried to ignore the moment. “Shall we, John?”

They walked arm in arm, Father Mulcahy steering Hawkeye clear of the rocks, tent stakes, and one errant football. “Why ‘John?’ I thought your first name was Francis?”

“Well now, that is an interesting story, my friend.” Father Mulcahy smiled. “John and Francis are nearly interchangeable. My birth and military records read John Francis, but my diaconal records read Francis John. Most of my family calls me John. I opted to be called Francis when I entered seminary, as it allowed me to leave behind...well, let’s just say I had a desire to drop the name John for a while.” He stumbled on the final part of his explanation.

“John, don’t tell me you, of all people, have a sordid past.” Hawkeye mostly teased.

“I suppose some of us feel do when we begin to examine ourselves.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Well, yes...”

“Yes, you have sordid past or yes, you’re avoiding the question?”

The Father couldn’t help but laugh around the blush blooming on his face. “Both.”

“Ahhh...” Hawkeye stopped walking and turned his head to each side for a moment. “Just past the motor pool near the treeline. There’s a spot a few yards west, over there, we can sit if you’d like.”

“Now how do you know where we are?”

“I’ve smelled the oil and gasoline from the motor pool, and I’ve stopped smelling the liver and onions wafting from the mess tent. And I can feel the sun on my right side. Which tells me we headed northwest out of camp. I’d be brilliant if I could just figure out how to shave without cutting off an ear!”

Once settled on a spot on the grass Hawkeye mentioned, the doctor turned to the chaplain. "Was he a college friend?"

"I...whatever do you mean?" Father Mulcahy stammered.

Hawkeye fumbled in his darkness to find the priest's hand resting beside his leg. He held it softly, rubbing his thumb over the tender skin on the back. "John, you're not the only one who has the desire to leave behind certain things and avoid questions about them later." Father Mulcahy didn't pull back from the warm hand enveloping his and Hawkeye took that as a good sign.

"H...his name was Philip. We had a semester together before the guilt of our Catholic upbringings drove us apart. He joined the Navy just after our graduation. War had already started in Europe. I was too much a coward and went to seminary instead. I heard several years later he was killed at Pearl Harbor."

“John...”

Somewhere off in the distance Hawkeye heard the rumble of mortar shells. He was beginning to understand what Radar heard before the rest of the people in camp did.

“And you, Hawkeye?” Father Mulcahy asked timidly.

“My second year in medical school. Paul was in residency. I thought he loved me. We talked about moving somewhere more accepting of...people like us, but at the end of the year he married Mary Sue Watson, prettiest nurse in pediatrics." He tried unsuccessfully to keep the bitter edge from his voice.

The smaller hand in Hawkeye's squeezed his tightly before mimicking his movements of rubbing a calloused thumb in lazy circles. They sat quietly together in the tall, dry grass lost in their own thoughts. Hawkeye could almost hear Father Mulcahy's heart pounding. The warmth of the sun on his face caused the scent of Aqua Velva to waft toward the doctor.

"Would you mind terribly," Hawkeye began, building courage, "if I kissed you, John?"

"Yes," the priest all but whispered. Hawkeye's heart sank into disappointment and embarrassment, "But think I'd mind more if you didn't."

Hawkeye turned his face toward Father Mulcahy's and lifted his free hand, finding the priest's cheek without too much fumbling. He could feel breath against his own face and breathed in the scent of oakmoss, vanilla, and eucalyptus. Father Mulcahy leaned forward until lips just brushed lips waiting for Hawkeye to press in further. He did, tasting the the sweetness of rice pudding on the chaplain's mouth. Hawkeye teased his tongue between lips, pulling the bottom one down with a tiny tug of teeth and nipped lightly. Father Mulcahy responded with a groan that vibrated through his throat as his own tongue searched out Hawkeye's.

The surgeon moved his hand from Father Mulcahy's cheek down his throat and to his lean, muscled chest. The hands they still held gripped each other. The priest rested his free hand on Hawkeye's upper arm. When they broke apart, John lay his head on Hawkeye's shoulder.

"Hawkeye..." He began, his voice soft but determined.

Hawkeye quieted him, "Shhhh...Just sit with me while the sun sets."

And they did, wrapped together in the fading sun. They breathed in the scent of aftershave mingling in their closeness, two broken men finding wholeness in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried really hard to make this mostly a fluffy, sweet, tender piece. I seem to be incapable of writing Hawkeye without at least a little angst.


End file.
